| Most of our body is made of it, but we tend not to give it a second thought, at least not while living in a developed country. Water has played an interesting part in our time hear in South Africa. We have two separate taps from which water flows. One comes from a bore hole and is potable. The other is from what we affectionately call the “hippo pond”, which is actually a nearby dammed up water source which is sometimes inhabited by a hippo. This water is will make you sick if you consume it and sometimes comes out as a rich brown colour. On more than one occasion, we’ve returned home from the construction site with either one of the water sources not available. At these times (when you can’t quench your thirst or take a shower), you realize how much water is taken for granted when it is not available. Water is also important on the work site. It is the key ingredient in our concrete and stucco mix and, when used in the wrong proportions, can create a mess that requires clean up or rework. On a typical scorching South African day, I down about 6L of this stuff during work hours. And no less than 24 hours from when we poured the last bucket into the ring beam, we found ourselves facing one of the fascinations for this country which demonstrate the magnificent power of water. Awed briefly by the potholes (yes, we paid money to see the version that nature created when, back home, we could see the versions created by traffic for free!), we soon found ourselves confronting the Blyde Canyon, a site that rivals the Grand Canyon but is more impressive because of the lush vegetation that caps it. We were silent as the Blyde river, which appeared to be a mere trickling brook from our vantage point, flowed into Mozambique. It was the exact moment when the late afternoon met the twilight as both the birds and the crickets were chirping in harmony. The venue eventually settled on was meaningful, cozy and humble, the farmhouse where she has spent many hours, days growing and loving God and Africa. The baptism was to take place in what is no more than a child’s wading pool that was about four feet too high. There was no fanfare, no showmanship. Just a humble “public” proclamation that was also a covenant for all those who bore witness, as we committed to being her support community as she continued her journey.
Talk by George “You don’t hear it, but the local workers sit there during lunch, laughing at the way you dress. More importantly, they wonder why you would pay money out of your pockets, use up all of your entitled leave, to come to Africa to move bricks.” “I sat on the veranda with a girl who was 12 years old. Her mother died 2 years ago and she became the head of the household. She said that the hardest thing was, since her mother died, was that I was the very first person to visit her.” “She was 19 years old and very beautiful. But, I could tell she had AIDS and she wasn’t going to live to see her next birthday. I was broken. How could I leave without giving her something, anything? But I had nothing. So, we sang to her. I put my hand on her shoulder and I could feel her whole body sucking the energy from me. For the first time in her life, here was someone touching her without any negative connotations.” “I went back to the commercial sex trade workers, this time without the pastors in their tidy suits and leather shoes. I knelt on my knees before them and asked them to forgive the church for failing them, for judging them and not loving them.” “One of the commercial sex trade workers answered: I know that life is about choices. The only choice I have is whether or not my child eats tonight.” “I was having lunch and one young man came up to my table. He says, thank you George. I’m from Masoyi and didn’t stand a chance. Now I work and I’m living. I’M MAKING IT!” “Please come back.” |
